


Heartache

by I_Write_Midnight_Snacks (Pink_and_Purple_Daisies)



Series: Something better than you are today [4]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Comfort Food, Cuddling & Snuggling, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Gen, Good Sibling Jason Todd, Hurt Tim Drake, Hurt/Comfort, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Panic Attacks, Protective Jason Todd, Scarecrow's Fear Toxin (DCU), Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Tim Drake is Red Robin, Whump, for like a hot minute, no beta we die, there's like a tiny bit of blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 01:08:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29410992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pink_and_Purple_Daisies/pseuds/I_Write_Midnight_Snacks
Summary: Tim’s breathing is erratic, bordering on hyperventilation. As soon as the adrenaline rush passes, he’s going to crash, and an antidote might mitigate the effects, except - except. Jason doesn’t have a fancy lab to make one, nor a supplier of the latest bat developments.Jason has to get the kid contained and safe.Jason has to deal with the drugs in the warehouse.Jason is only one person, and there’s no way to get it all done on his own.He needs help.
Relationships: Tim Drake & Jason Todd
Series: Something better than you are today [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2071341
Comments: 45
Kudos: 443





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've had the first few pages of this written for a few weeks now, believe it or not. I might have gotten a sudden burst of inspiration to finish it, though *side-eyes Envy*
> 
> *throws this into the void*

It had to be fucking fear toxin.

Jason hates the new players they’ve been dealing with with a burning passion - for weeks now they keep squirreling their way into Gotham’s underbelly without Jason's notice, and popping up every here and there with some new problem for Jason and Tim to fix, and he’s ready to be fucking done with them already, but this - oh, they just had to start playing around with fear toxin of all things.

Foreigner amateurs who know nothing about how things are n Gotham and managed to get it mixed up into the other things they sell and now Jason is going to have to blow an entire safehouse to bits to make sure it’s all gone and burnt to dust before it manages to reach a civilian, all while getting out all the idiotic henchmen that managed to get _themselves_ dosed.

The cherry on top is that it’s a new strain, too. Adrenalin-fuelled violent panic is exactly what Jason needed to deal with today.

“Come in, Red. I’ve cleared the first floor. What’s your status?” he says into his comm as soon as he finishes trying up the last few perps from that floor. He can’t wait to get home.

The comm stays silent.

"Red, come in. I'm ready to blow this place."

Red Robin doesn't respond.

"Fuck."

His feet are already moving. He's running for the stairs at top speed, reaching the second floor where Tim was supposed to clear the area, even while he's trying again n a desperate attempt with "Red Robin, report! What's your situation?"

Nothing. His comm is dead silent.

Jason doesn't panic, but it's a near thing. Trying the same thing again is redundant, but he itches to tap his comms again. Red would have gone systematically, end-to-end, and Jason spoke to him not long ago, so he'd be at least halfway done with the floor. That's a start. The only sounds are his own labored breathing and his boots on the floor, which could be good, but with every empty room he checks, a pit opens up in his stomach. There's no thugs left but there's also no Tim.

Jason feels the uneasy pit of worry start to form at the bottom of his stomach. Room after room and there’s no sign of Red other than the trail of destruction and unconscious bodies

Another hallway, and worry is morphing into the beginnings of panic. “Red you better answer or I swear to God-” he growls into his comm when -

There

A black lump on the ground, almost inconspicuous between crates and sacks, if Jason didn’t know Red’s cape well enough.

He drops to the ground, but it’s no good - the kid is unconscious, and whoever knocked him out is gone. “Shit,” he curses, taking off his glove, because it’s appropriate for the situation. Thugs will start waking up soon, he has to clear them now and blow the place, but Red might be hurt. There’s no obvious wounds, and a quick check reveals his pulse - a bit too fast, but there’s dozens of possible reasons for that - but that doesn’t mean he’s safe, and there’s no time.

Praying to high heavens that he isn’t aggravating any unseen damage, he picks Tip up, a bit aggrieved at how damn light the kid is, and gets the hell out of there. He leaves the crates of evidence and empty hallways behind, following an instinct that tells him to get away, and get away fast. Those instincts haven’t failed him yet, and he’s not about to start ignoring them.

He should have paid attention to the kid, though, should have noticed the sudden tensing. He didn’t - in the moment between one breath and the next, the kid is jerking away, and Jason can’t even stop moving before he crashes - collides with Tim’s falling body, and they’re a mess of tangling limbs tumbling painfully to the floor.

“Ow, fuck, Red, what-”

Tim cuts him off with a scream that makes his mouth go dry.

It had to be fucking fear toxin.

When he finds whoever dosed the kid, they’re going to _wish_ he was still on the market for murder.

“Red, it’s ok. Calm down!” It’s asinine, saying those words when he knows what effect the fear toxin has, knows they’ll never reach his muddled mind, especially in front of this newest, even more vicious strain, but he has to say something. Tim is scrambling away from him though, his cape caught under his body and tripping him up, pushing Jason to count his breaths and curse Crane for ever coming up with the bane of his fucking existence, before finally rerouting his brain to focus on the crisis at hand.

Hands up in a show of peace, he moves to his knees in front of the kid, and takes off his helmet in the same movement. Tim is panicking badly, though, body shaking with tension and breathing labored, only getting worse the more he’s looking at Jason, and Jason feels his gut sink with a bad premonition.

“It’s just me, kid,” he says regardless. He lowers his voice to a soothing tone, to the one he uses for scared kids and assault victims, while something inside him seizes. He’s not equipped for this. “You’re ok.”

He hopes it’s going to be that easy while knowing full well it won’t. Tim jumps back from him, gets caught in his own cape, and only the wall right behind him stops him from going too far. It doesn’t stop him from scrambling for a weapon, moving instinctually for the familiar weight of the bo-staff that nearly whacks Jason over the head not a second later.

“God - fuck, kid, calm down!”

“No! Get away, don’t - don’t come any closer!” he shrieks.

He doesn’t know what the kid is seeing, only that Tim is a danger to himself and everyone else, as he is, frantic and violent, with pouches full of sharp weapons that he doesn’t have the presence of mind to use responsibly right now.

He needs to restrain the kid before he hurts someone.

“Get back!” Tim screeches again. The bo-staff comes from the left this time, letting Jason catch it with one hand while the other goes for Tim’s wrist, fast and deliberate, and twists. Adrenaline-fuelled desperation may make him vicious, but it also makes him sloppy, and Jason hates that he has to restrain the kid, but he likes the alternatives worse. He ignores the desperate struggle, dodging the foot aimed at his knee.

Screams and shrieks mix with desperate sobs into a discordant symphony of fear, too reminiscent of something Jason himself caused n the kid not too long ago. He doesn’t hurl, but it’s a close thing - without the green clouding his reason and painting his world the color of envy, Jason remembers the glee he felt at hurting the kid, and his stomach curdles like milk n the sun.

Tim’s breathing is erratic, bordering on hyperventilation. As soon as the adrenaline rush passes, he’s going to crash, and an antidote might mitigate the effects, except - except. Jason doesn’t have a fancy lab to make one, nor a supplier of the latest bat developments.

Jason has to get the kid contained and safe.

Jason has to deal with the drugs in the warehouse.

Jason is only one person, and there’s no way to get it all done on his own.

He needs help.

_(He carefully doesn’t think about what’s going to happen to him in the aftermath. The rest of the Bats are still out for his hide, after all.)_

His comms aren’t usually set on the bats’ public frequency, most of the bats probably aren't aware that he has access to them, even, but he can tune in if he wants to, and this isn’t a situation that leaves him much choice.

Still the sudden, deathly silence down the line when he says “Red hood, coming in” leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. He aches to fall back on familiar ground, to go for a taunt or an attack, but Tim is struggling in his hands with desperate drive, and the crooks are set to wake up at any moment. “I have a situation,” he says instead, detached and cold to oppose the way his blood is boiling.

Tim’s pleads are broken and hysterical, making Jason grimace at the sound, but without an antidote he has no comfort to offer. “Let go! Let go of me, get - get away, please, please go - don’t -” he shrieks between sobs.

“Fear toxin infestation," he explains, keeping his voice even through will-force alone. "Don't get me wrong, I'm happy to take care of this on my own, but since it's gonna hit half of Gotham if left unchecked I thought you'd appreciate a heads up.”

He puts one arm around Tim’s torso. The kid is thrashing as Jason holds him close, and-

“Please, no, Hood, get- get away! Hood, _don’t_!”

the plea crashes into Jason with sudden, horrifying insight, spelling out the truth that turns his blood to ice.

_Oh no._

“Red Robin was hit and he needs an antidote,” he ends, choked.

Another second, two, three as Oracle probably gives them info, then-

“We’re on our way,” finally, Nightwing’s voice comes through gritted teeth. “ETA fifteen minutes.”

 _Hurry_ , he doesn’t say.

He only holds Tim closer, and waits.

“Shh, it’s ok, baby bird. You’re ok.”

“Shut up!” the kid shrieks, redoubling his efforts to get away. “Shut up, stop - stop it, Hood, let go-”

“Fuck!” Jason avoids an elbow to the gut just in time to get hit by a kick to the shin. The jolt of pain is enough to lose his balance, and he nearly loses his grip on the kid. “Red, it’s gonna get ugly unless you calm down,” he says, letting himself drop to the ground with Tim still held close to his chest. “Come on, kid. You can take it.”

“No! Hood, Hood please, don’t!”

This close, he can feel every hitched breath, every shudder racking the kid’s body. He can feel the pulse ratcheting in the wrists he’s still gripping forcefully between their bodies, and every attempt to pull away.

“I’m just going to move your arms a bit, Red.” He shifts his grip to hug the kid with both arms, pins Tim’s arms to his sides to hopefully prevent the kid from breaking them trying to struggle away. “There you go, more comfortable, right?”

“Please - please Hood I’m - I’m sorry, I’ll do - I’ll do anything, please, please stop-”

His voice cracks as he pleads with an unrelenting vision, before cutting off with a shattered scream, and Jason’s heart breaks. This -

This is his fault.

“Shhh, you’ll be ok, baby bird, I forgive you,” he says, even though Tim isn’t the one who should apologize.

The kid’s hair is tangled but soft when he rests his cheek on Tim’s head, shushing him softly even while knowing that it makes no difference. He knows what fear toxin does, how it shifts reality into your worst nightmares. He’s hoping, against all odds, that some of the gentleness he’s projecting will reach through the haze, make the whole thing just a little easier on him, but he knows it’s not.

Tim’s hands suddenly find Jason’s arms wrapped around him, and it’s only his kevlar sleeves that stop the kid’s nails from digging into his skin, where he’s lost his jacket sometime during the earlier fight. Tim is clawing at him desperately, his grip strong enough to hurt, and Jason has to focus hard on neither losing his hold nor squeezing tighter.

“Hood, I don’t want to - I don’t - please, you don’t have to-” Tim starts between laboured breaths that rattle Jason’s entire body, and this time when he cuts off it’s with a scream that sends ice shards cutting through Jason’s entire being.

“Fuck - I know, I know it hurts, baby bird, but you’ll be alright soon, we’ll make it better,” he murmurs into the kid’s hair, braced against the pain in his arms. He’s trying not to think of the smart, tired, overachieving kid who was grumpily eating his food as Jason confiscated his coffee only a few days ago, the kid grumbling at him as Jason sent him to bed repeatedly, or sharing his info with Jason over breakfast so they could stop the gang’s movements together, now thrashing in his arms and screaming in pain to visions of Jason himself hurting him in however many ways.

“No, Hood, stop-”

While Tim’s arms are mostly trapped his legs are still free, and he seems to notice this. As his efforts redouble, one padded boot finds Jason’s shin and _kicks_ , sending stars through his vision and curses to his lips. “Fuck, fuck shit morthefucking ow-” another kick, and another, so close to breaking bone that Jason has to shift them again, to raise his knees close to his chest and pin Tim in with his thighs too just for some extra control.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, kid,” and he needs to say it when Tim is aware, too, he knows he must, because if this is the kid’s fear toxin nightmare, Jason has to make it right, even if he can never take back those memories and spare Tim that pain.

“No, no you’re-” he breaks off with a sob and _trashes_ , “you’re not, please don’t, Hood, just stop-”

“You hang in there, and when you’re better, I can make you Alfred’s special crepes. Sound good, kid? I know you haven’t had them in a while, you must miss them.”

It’s not helping, not really. Tim’s breaths are coming in shattered, labored gasps, and every few seconds his body goes rigid like he’s bracing against some unseen pain, and no breathing techniques are going to help here. He makes a note to honor that promise, anyway, if only because the sugar would be good for the kid, after all this, and the familiarity might be comforting.

“No, no, no,” Tim is whispering under his breath, over and over, a pleading litany that Jason can’t honor, and he never thought someone’s terror could taste so much like he’d swallowed his own vomit.

“You don’t need to be afraid, baby bird,” he promises uselessly.

“Help,” the kid repeats, voice hitching, breaking, and then, just as Jason thinks it’s as bad as it’s going to get - “he- help - Robin!”

The blow comes like a punch to the gut, and slams all the air out of Jason with a painful wheeze.

He’s not good for Tim, shouldn’t be around him like this, when he’s the source of the kid’s nightmare, but he’s thought - he wants to let go right now, but if he does, someone will get hurt - Tim is estranged from the family, wouldn't want to be around them, so Jason thought - but of course he’d feel safer with Dick, Jason should just let them take him, he’s only making the nightmares worse -

“Please, Robin, I can’t - I won’t-”

“Shh, it’s ok, he’ll be here soon, Robin’ll be here soon.” It hurts to say, pangs a part of him that never truly healed, but if there’s a chance that Tim might hear it, he has to try.

“No, please, Robin, please help, Ja- _Jason_!” he cries, and Jason’s heart goes still. He missed a step climbing stairs and now he’s falling, falling _falling!_

He’s…

Jason is going to throw up.

He thinks of pictures in an album, kept so carefully and displayed prominently after all these years. He thinks of odd silences and shy admittances, of sideways glances and Tim’s expression, betrayed and _shattered_ when Jason had first attacked him in his frenzied rage. He thinks of the admittance, thinks about “I blackmailed Bruce” and “it was always temporary” and “I used to take pictures of Batman and Robin”.

He thinks of the tiny kid he’d saved off a bridge’s arc, about to break his neck just to capture a picture of his heroes, tongue-tied and earnest as he’d thanked Robin - thanked _Jason_.

He hugs Tim closer to himself, buries his face in messy black hair and pointedly doesn’t cry, because _this is his fault_ , and you reap what you sow.

“I’m here,” he says. “I’m here, Timbo. I’ve got you.”

Tim chokes on a sob. “Please.”

He cuts off on a choked breath, wheezes out another plea, “Please, Hood stop, I’m sorry, _Plea-_ ” broken and desperate, before he stops breathing entirely, and sends Jason into a panic.

“Tim? Tim, kid you need to answer me, come on, deep breaths, please kid-” his heart is still beating, hammering in his chest and against his pulse points, worse and worse as he holds his breath, and there’s _nothing Jason can do_.

He drops his forehead against the kid’s shoulder, instead, murmuring every reassurance he can come up with, every calming plea over and over as he pins the terrified kid in place.

He counts ten seconds, thirty, forty - as he reaches fifty, Jason is really panicking, at sixty he’s ready to let go and fuck the consequences-

And Tim _breathes_ , finally, a deep, desperate breath followed by a barrage of more.

Jason could sob.

Jason _does_ sob.

“God, kid, you had me worried there.”

“I’m sorry,” Tim rasps. “I’m sorry, please, please help… help, Robin…”

“I’m here. I’m here, baby bird. I’ve got you. You’re ok.”

“I’m - I’m sorry, I’ll stop, I’ll - I’ll go, please, please just-”

“Shh, shh it’s ok, you’re safe, kid,”

“Jason, Jason please-”

“I’ve got you.”

He’s not sure how much longer it would go like that. The violent panic seems to be subsiding, but Jason never got to actually time the effects, so he has no idea if he can let go. Especially when a footsteps echo down the hallway just beyond the corner.

“Shit,” he spits, going for one of his guns before he can even think. He grabs it with a practiced move and manages to level it towards the corner before the mistake catches up with him - Tim, moving almost as fast, finds a Batarang and slashes at his other arm. Panic makes him sloppy, and he misses Jason’s tendons by inches, but it catches at his sleeve with the sharp corner and cuts through enough to draw blood, “Fuck, godddamn fucking shit, damnit Red-”

And it signals their position clearer than any struggling could have. The stps go faster, Tim is struggling, and Jason has to drop the gun and pin the kid before he does any real damage, but they’re sitting ducks now and the best he can do is curl himself around the kid’s body and hope his body armor holds.

Then, a thud, a crash, and silence.

Jason counts one second, two, six against Tim’s heaving body, when finally-

“Hood?”

Despite himself, Jason relaxes.

“Nightwing,” he breathes.

The crook, Jason sees now, is unconscious on the ground right at the turn of the hallway; a few more seconds and Dick might have been too late. 

Whatever happens next, Jason can admit that calling in was the right choice. “Do you have the antidote? Baby bird’s in a bad state.”

And he is. He’s still struggling weakly, pulling against Jason’s arms with stuttered movements, but his pleas have tapered off into silent whines and sniffles.

Nightwing is looking at them with an expression of bafflement that Jason would absolutely love to make fun of in any other situation. Confusion lines his entire body, it would be so funny if Jason weren’t bleeding with Tim trembling in his arms.

He’s probably blinking owlishly under that mask. He’s moving, at least, raising a hand to reach his comms unit. “Hey, B, uh… I’ve found them.” He doesn’t sound convinced. “East wing of the second level. Administering antidote now, the level is otherwise secure.”

He stills for a few more seconds, presumably listening to Bruce, before finally stepping towards them with a simple assent.

Jason tries not to let his relief be too obvious. “There you go. You’re ok now, Timbo, we’ll fix you up.”

“Nn - no - Robin -”

“I’m here, I’m here. You’re ok now.”

Jason wants to snap at Nightwing to move already, where he’s stepping towards them hesitantly as if Jason’s about to turn a gun on him. That would be the opposite of helpful though, so he settles for a glare that he’s hopefully projecting strongly enough to be clear despite his domino. It seems to work, because Nightwing raises his hands in surrender. He’s holding a syringe in one hand, which… is fine. It’s fine. It’s definitely an antidote for Tim, which is what Jason asked for.

He’s fine.

“Today would be great, dickhead,” he says, to hide his wince when Nightwing hesitates again.

“Uh... yeah. Right, right.” He moves fast, thankfully, kneels next to them and holds out the needle with a questioning tilt to his head.

“Do you…”

“You do it,” Jason cuts him off, closing his eyes. Tim is murmuring jumbled words, so he buries his face in the kid’s shoulder again, and pretends that not seeing what’s going on with the needle is enough to make him not want to throw up.

“I’ll leave all the files with the police when I can get to a computer, if I can trust you with the cleanup,” he says after a few seconds of silence.

“What happened here, Hood?”

He snorts, but still doesn’t look up. “What, not obvious enough for you?”

“You know what I mean. Why are you with Red Robin?”

Not _why are you working together_ , no. _Why are you helping him_. It’s a question and an accusation rolled into one, and Dick’s tone makes that perfectly clear.

Well, then.

“Since nobody else in the family was gonna look after him, someone had to step up.” He tries for a shrug, and it’s awkward in his position, but he’s not quite ready to move yet so he makes it work.

It’s worth it, if only for Dick’s indignant squak.

“What do you - of course we look after him!”

“Ha. Yeah, right, of course you do. That’s why he’s living on his own and existing off of coffee and no sleep.”

“Oh, and you just care about him so much.”

He raises his head, then, to glare at Dick. “Enough to make sure he doesn’t starve himself to death, at least.”

Dick scoffs. “Yeah, that’s believable. Cared a lot about him when you left him bleeding to death in Titan’s tower? I don’t know what you’re planning with him, Hood, but-”

“Oh, shove an escrima stick up your ass, boy wonder. You’re no better than me.”

Tim left Wayne manor with enough self-worth issues to fill an entire psychological study. Jason may have been malicious, but he was never careless to that degree, at least. “Good to know I’m not the only one the family just threw aside.”

He puts all the poison he can in those words, hopefully enough to hide the pain he’s suppressing as he stands up, with a now sleeping Tim in his arms.

“Wha- Hood, I’m not done-”

“Yes, we’re done. Baby bird needs to rest, and somehow, I don’t think he’d appreciate waking up in the manor.”

“So you’re just taking him - where are you even taking him?”

“To his place, Dickface. Think you can handle the cleanup here without getting gassed?”

“Jason, you can’t just walk away from this!”

“Look, if you still have a bone to pick, you can find me later. I know Oracle has me pinned, don’t even pretend. Right now, those drugs need to be destroyed, and Red needs to rest.” It’s a struggle, keeping the growl out of his voice.

When Dick grabs his arm, it’s only Tim in his arms that stops Jason from _breaking_ Dick’s hand. He turns his scowl on the man, instead, preparing an angry rebuke.

“Jason… What happened between you two?”

The earlier confusion is back as the man is looking between Jason and Tim, and the aggression is gone from his voice, which is the only reason Jason isn’t snapping at him. He pulls away, though, ready to be out of here and forget about this entire cursed evening.

“Long story, dickface.”

***

Jason somehow managed to work all the tangles out of Tim’s hair by the time he wakes up.

He thought a lot about how the kid might react to waking up - waking up from a nightmare of Hood torturing him - and seeing Jason’s face. And he was going to leave the kid alone, he was, because it would be better than being around Jason, at least, but… “Please, Robin” Tim said.

So Jason stayed. He changed them both out of uniform, emptied his stomach in the kid’s expensive ass toilet, laid down next to the trembling kid, and ran his fingers through long, black hair for a modicum of comfort.

He dozed off at some point, but Tim was still sleeping by the time he woke up, so it was all fine.

Now, though, he looks at Tim with worry he can’t quite push down.

“Hey, baby bird. You back with me?”

“Hmm… Jason? Wha…”

He can feel the moment the gears start turning. It feels like a chokehold seizing his lunge when Tim’s hand shoots up to his neck as if to check for-

He takes his hand out of the kid’s hair. Would he even want Jason to hold him?

“Tim?” he asks, softly, as the kid is looking over his own body.

 _Checking for injuries_.

“I’m… ok?”

Jason sighs. “Fear toxin. Pretty nasty strain, too, and I couldn’t get the antidote to you in time. Sorry, baby bird.”

“Oh. So that was all…”

“Yeah.”

The silence draws out, then, but Tim isn’t drawing away, so Jason hesitantly lets his body relax.

“Hey, Timbo? Is it ok if I touch you?”

Tim looks at him then, looking for something on Jason’s face that he seems to find because after a few seconds, he gives a faltering nod.

“Ok. If you want me to let go, just say.” He wraps his uninjured arm around Tim’s waist, and shifts the kid closer into a loose hug. Tim relaxes a bit at that, curls a hesitant hand into Jason’s tshirt, so with a bit more confidence, Jason places his other hand back into Tim’s hair, and goes back to running his fingers through it languidly, while drawing soft circles over the kid’s back with the other.

Tim _melts_ into the hold. He rests his head on Jason’s chest without a thought, and something inside Jason, some part of him that’s been wounded and hurting for a long time, feels… warm.

“I’m sorry, kid,” he says, again.

Tim shakes his head. “Don’t. It happens, with fear toxin. I’m sure you did your best.”

“That’s not what I meant. I’m… I wasn’t in my right mind, when I attacked you, I know that now, but it’s not an excuse. It was fucked up. I’m sorry.”

Tim stays silent.

That’s fine.

He wouldn’t accept forgiveness that was thrown around thoughtlessly.

“Thank you,” the kid says, instead, after the silence lingered long enough.

“Don’t mention it, baby bird.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crepes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a deadline tomorrow, so obviously I had to spend my time writing useless stuff.  
> I realized I left the previous chapter off without actually showing Jason cooking for Tim, which was a grave oversight considering how this series was conceived, so at least now I've rectified this mistake. Hope you guys enjoy.
> 
> Also, I've made a small edit to chapter 1, since I'm here, but it's only a piece of dialogue that I'm adjusting.

By the time they finally drag themselves out of the bed a long while later, Jason’s already dozed off once more, so he’s feeling marginally more like a real human person. Tim, less so, by the look of things - his body hasn’t stopped shaking in the aftermath, he’s moving stiffly, and with pale, splotchy skin and dark bags, he’s looking like death warmed over.

Jason pushes him down onto the couch in the large living area slash kitchen he has going on, where he can see Jason moving around without the risk of falling over and cracking his head open.

“Sit there and wait, baby bird. I believe I promised you a treat when you woke up, but I better not catch you trying to move.”

He levels the wooden spoon threateningly towards the kid while pulling out the other supplies he’s going to need - all bought and shelved by yours truly, because Tim can’t be trusted to get his own groceries - but the kid isn’t looking much threatened, which, Jason can admit grudgingly, is probably a good thing right now.

He’s squinting, instead, looking vaguely towards Jason like he’s trying to remember something.

“Crepes?” he says eventually. His voice sounds wrecked, strained by - _don’t think about it, don’t think about that, it’s fine!_

He forces a smile, instead. It feels like a grimace on his face, but the attempt is there. “Yeah, that’s right. Figured of everything in the manor, you might miss those. It’s not Sunday, but we can’t have everything.”

“Hmm. Missed Alfred’s crepes.”

Jason huffs. The kid is dragging his words like he’s half asleep, but still stubbornly clinging to conscience.

“Any other requests while I’m here? And think hard about it, because it’s a one-time offer.”

Tim frowns, like he’s actually thinking about it. Considering Jason’s had to threaten him into eating, before, he isn’t sure if this is an improvement.

When he speaks, Jason doesn’t need to see his face to read the tentative hope in his voice. “Hot cocoa?”

He rolls his eyes, because the agreement would be too easy otherwise, and grumbles a bit just to get the message across. “Yeah, sure, sure, I get it. My usual food’s too healthy and balanced for you, but sugarry shit’s perfectly fine, isn’t it?”

He glares halfheartedly over his shoulder while he’s whisking together all the dry ingredients just to be sure that they’re all uniform. “I’m making an exception for today but don’t get used to this, kid,” he grumbles.

Tim, the little shit, is smirking.

He says nothing, though, so Jason can’t call him out on it. He pulls out the eggs and milk though, and sets to carefully mixing the batter bit by bit.

He puts the rest of the milk to heat up for the cocoa while shifting through Tim’s too many cupboards to fish out the large-bottomed pan that he knows is there, and manages to find after scrambling around for a bit, and he sets it to heat up while getting the butter and the toppings out of the fridge.

“Ok kid, buckle in because you’re about to taste some of the best topping combinations that won’t give you diabetes this side of Gotham, and Dickface can suck a dirty sock with his sugary monstrosities.”

Tim chokes on a laugh behind him, making Jason suppress a smile. He’s been under fear toxin often enough to know what the aftermath feels like, so if the kid’s able to crack a laugh in this state, it’s good.

Then again….

“Dick?”

“Yeah.”

There’s no green flashing at the edges of his vision, but that somehow makes the odd mix of anger and resignation and everything else feel worse. The pit makes it easy - draws the anger out enough to drown out everything else. He almost misses it.

This, working through this complicated mess of feelings that he can’t ignore as easily, it’s… hard. Harder than he’s had to think about his own thoughts in years, and the mess of reactions and feelings from Dick himself isn’t making things easier.

If Dick had just been angry at him - if even he’d come at Jason on the offense and hadn’t backed down - Jason could have retaliated in kind. It isn’t that easy.

“Yeah, he was there,” he repeats blankly.

Silence, heavier this time. Jason flips a crepe, and prepares the batter for the next.

He manages to finish three more before Tim finally speaks again.

“I thought he’d take me to the manor.”

“He wanted to, I think. Came in all righteous like he knew best, and somehow I was wrong just for being there. I didn’t think you’d appreciate that, though,” he shrugs. “Was I wrong?”

“... No.” Another pause. “Thanks, Jason.”

“Don’t mention it, Timbo.”

He finishes the crepes in silence, glancing at Tim every once in a while to check on him, but that dazed, far-off expression doesn’t leave his face the entire time. Nothing some sugar and liberal complaining about the bat clan won’t fix, hopefully.

“Now,” he says with a resounding clap once the final crepe is done. Tim Jumps, snapping wide eyes onto Jason. “Watch and learn, Timmy, Timmers, Tiny Tim.”

“‘M not that small,” he grumbles, but it’s ignored.

“Your best friend for Crepe toppings,” he starts with a flourish, grabbing the can off the counter with one hand. With the other, he brandishes the object dramatically, making sure to use Jazz hands, for proper emphasis - “Mascarpone!”

Tim grimaces.

“Don’t even make that face, baby bird. You don’t know until you try it. This thing goes with almost any other thing you want to put on your crepes.”

The kid clearly doesn’t believe him. Jason huffs. That’s alright, he’ll eat his words later. “Don’t say I didn’t tell you,” he warns as he gets to work. He has enough crepes piled up for both of them to go ham, so he can try as many combinations as he can remember. The first couple of crepes he prepares with dollops of the white cream and cranberries for that sour-sweet touch, which he tops over with sprinkled honey to bring everything together. He folds them carefully, and puts one on a plate each, and laughs at Tim’s thoroughly dubious expression.

“Just try it, baby bird. Would I ever guide you wrongly?”

“Do you want me to answer that?”

Jason bursts into laughter, and even Tim manages a small smile. He does take the plate, though, and when Jason sits down next to him, Tim shuffles himself closer. Not close enough to touch, but. Closer.

Jason rolls his eyes, puts an arm around the kid and pulls him into his side.

“Don’t get used to it,” he warns with a growl.

“Hmm. Sure.”

“You little shit. Just shut up and eat your crepe before I change my mind.”

Tim rolls his eyes, but Jason lets it go for today, only because of Tim’s state, and Tim finally bites into his desert, reluctance batted to the side.

Jason catches the exact moment his eyes go wide as he chews, and he couldn’t wtop the wolfish grin if he wanted to. The kid doesn’t even breathe between one bite and the next, and he doesn’t seem to know if he should eat faster, or go slow so he can savor it.

His eyes slide closed after a few bites, swelling Jason’s pride to a new degree.

“Told you so!”

“Shut up,” Tim snaps.

Well. It’s more “Fhu’ uh’,” but the spirit is there.

Jason ‘tsk’s. “All these weeks, and you still doubt me, baby bird. I’m offended.”

Tim seems to have elected to ignore Jason in favour of the desert, so Jason settles back and digs into his own. He made sure to get real honey from a bee-keeper for his own home, not that sugary, tasteless shit in supermarkets, so it wasn’t much effort to bring a jar here with the rest of the groceries, and the floral taste of it mixes beautifully with the fruity cranberries and the mild cream. He takes his time to savor it, because truth be told, Jason also hasn’t had crepes in a while, and he missed them.

“Ok, ok, I admit, you were right,” Tim grumbles once he’s finished stuffing his face with the last of the desert.

“Gonna doubt me again, baby bird?”

Tim rolls his eyes, but the silence speaks for itself. Jason grabs his plate and Tim moves away just enough for him to stand up, going for the next two crepes.

“So, we can either watch a shitty movie, or complain about the batclan for the rest of the evening. Your pick, Timbo,” he says, while slathering these crepes with chocolate spread, mascarpone, and crunched biscuit pieces. “I’m always happy to complain, but I wouldn’t mind a movie, either.”

Tim’s huff is amused, and when Jason returns with the crepes, the curve of his lips is wry. “What, you didn’t get everything off your chest with Dick, today?”

“Baby bird, if two minutes were enough to get everything off my chest, I wouldn’t have deprived myself of Alfred’s cooking for all these years.”

“Hmm. Not sure, I think yours holds up.”

“Was that an actual compliment?” he raises an eyebrow at the brat, even as the kid settles back into Jason’s side while Jason draps an arm around him.

“Objective statement,” Tim corrects. “I, uh… don’t wanna think about that, right now. The family.”

Jason shrugs. “All the same to me, kid. Movie it is, then.”

Tim has a huge smart TV with netflix on it, because of course he does, so they’re able to flip through their options without moving from the couch, thankfully, and instead of some random shitty movie, they actually end up watching Avatar the last airbender. When Tim tastes his crepe, his eyes practically _shine_.

“How is this better than just chocolate cream?” he mumbles in awe, looking between Jason and the crepe with wide eyes.

Jason preens. “Not that hard, Timmy Tim. Mascarpone is the mild taste to the chocolate’s strong sweetness, so it balances out.”

“Jason, this is amazing,” he says around another bite.

On the screen, Zuko is screaming about calming tea, while Tim is at his side, small and pointy. There’s an elbow jamming into his hip painfully as Tim compliments his crepes with a full mouth, and it’s gross and Jason hates it, but it’s also the most earnest anyone’s ever been complimenting Jason, which…

It’s nice.

Jason can put up with it, just for today.

**Author's Note:**

> When they finally move, Jason makes the promised crepes. Tim hasn't had them since he moved out of the manor. He may or may not cry over them.
> 
> You can chat with me on my [personal Tumblr](https://i-preen-for-oikawa.tumblr.com/), but I also have a [writing one](https://i-write-midnight-snacks.tumblr.com/) where I occasionally post short previews of whatever I'm working on!


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